


Armor

by Westgate (Harkpad)



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Happy Ending, M/M, New Relationship, Phil Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-09-08 05:07:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8831641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harkpad/pseuds/Westgate
Summary: Phil is planning the first mission he's run since he and Clint started a relationship.  He's grasping for perspective and trying to steel himself into doing what he does best. As usual, he works together with Clint to make it work.





	

“No one has been able to infiltrate that compound, Nick,” Phil says, frowning at the pale folder on the table. He crosses his arms and glares back at Fury, who is nodding.

“I like to think that’s because you and Barton haven’t tried yet.”

Phil sighs and runs a hand over his face. “Right. It’s that easy.”

“No,” Nick says, moving to stand next to Phil and pick up a remote for the big screen in the conference room. He presses a few buttons and an image of a schematic for the AIM compound in the south of France pops up onto the screen. “It’s not easy. You two can figure it out, though. Sanders from R&D and Billings from Recon will be here in ten to help you plan. You’ll have Strike Team 3 at your disposal once you get in. You’ve got the background, right?”

“Yes. Clint’s coming in about thirty minutes – he had a training session with the recruits this morning.”

Nick laughs. “Parkour?”

“You heard about that?” Phil says, raising an eyebrow.

“Barton was bragging about his drill design while he was beating Maria at Mario Kart in the lounge yesterday.”

Phil can’t help a smile. Watching Clint and Maria play Mario Kart is one of his favorite things. “Yes, well, he’s testing it today, and he knows to come here straight after.”

Nick leans over and claps Phil on the shoulder. “See? You’ve got this. Two-man team, plenty of intel, Sanders and Billings are the best, you two are the best. No problem. I’m outta here,” and he leaves with an actual flourish. Phil shakes his head, sips his coffee, and walks over to the schematic, his brain whirring.

He can do this. Sure, he’s officially dating Clint now. Sure, he’s having the best sex of his life. Sure, he and Clint have moved almost completely into each other’s lives in less than a month. He even bought a duplicate coffee maker because Clint drinks straight of his carafe and Phil’s just not having that when he stays over.

But they’re the best at what they do. Doubts about guiding Clint through an op have no place in Phil’s life. He blows out a long breath. He can do this.

It’s an easy thing to say.

<><><><><><><><><> 

 “You are go for insertion, Hawkeye,” Phil says in Clint’s ear. Phil watches the blip of Clint’s tracker on the map they’ve got pulled up in the van parked about half a mile from the compound. Phil is hidden in a small stand of trees that apparently never gets any foot traffic. Billings found it on his initial recon trip. The strike team that will go in once Clint confirms intel is set near the compound, and things are on track.

Clint taps his earpiece in response and Phil flips his scanners to the video feed on Clint’s uniform. SHIELD body cameras are light and hardly noticeable, and Phil still remembers the doughnut run he made in thanks when R&D introduced them to the strike teams last year. He watches as Clint deftly scales a fence and drops the two patrolmen inside in under five seconds.

He listens to the audio feed from their stolen frequencies. “Clean entry, Agent. Proceed with scan.” AIM is a pain in SHIELD’s ass, but they’re also very good at operating under their radar. None of the intel they have can give them exact numbers of personnel or even exact location of security measures. Their compound walls are some kind of engineering dream for keeping scanning tech out. As information from Clint’s handheld scanner starts to show up on Phil’s computers, he hears an alarm on his audio scanner.

“They’re on to you,” he reports to Clint. “Find a place to be.” 

Clint’s camera shows him moving to a nearby alcove and the information from the scanner keeps coming.

Phil takes a deep breath as he takes in the information, and he swallows the distracting undercurrent of worry that this mission has been laced with since Nick handed it off to him.

<><><><><><><><><> 

_“We’ve been over it three times, Phil,” Clint said, exhaustion threading through his voice._

_“Make it four,” Phil snapped. Sanders and Billings stared intently at their paperwork._

_Clint glared and shut his folder, and moved to the computer and quickly shut it down._

_“What the hell are you doing?” Phil said, standing up._

_“Shutting it down,” Clint growled. “This is our fourth meeting and we’ve been through it three times today alone. It’s seven-thirty at night and these two need to get home. They’ve done their jobs. I’ve done mine. You’ve done yours. We’re set.”_

_Phil felt his breathing quicken. “We need to go over team files –“_

_“No,” Clint interrupted. “I can tell you everything you need to know about the strike team. I even know who Daniels’ favorite band is. We don’t need to go over team files.”_

_“We should go over tech-“ Phil started._

_“No.” Clint cut him off again. “Sanders has been over it with us and is confident I know what I’m doing, right?” He glanced at Sanders, who nodded a little too furiously._

_There was a quiet moment._

_“Let them go, Sir,” Clint said._

_Phil looked down at his folder and nodded. “Dismissed.” Sanders and Billings quickly gathered their things and left the room, which suddenly seemed very empty and quiet._

_“What the hell, Phil?”_

_Phil sighed and started gathering materials. “You know that south corridor’s going to be tough,” he started._

_“Stop,” Clint said, putting his hand over top of Phil’s on the table._

_Phil stared at their hands and shook his head. “I can’t do this.” His heart was racing. Here, in the briefing room, hundreds of miles from the actual mission, and his mind kept tripping over everything in their plans that was any sort of question mark._

_Clint reached over and tilted Phil’s chin so that he had to look at Clint. “You’re wrong. We can do this.”_

_Phil opened his mouth to protest, and then closed his eyes. “How do you know? It feels different, wrong, like something awful’s going to happen.” Clint in a body bag, SHIELD officers gripping Phil’s hand in a handshake and offering condolences for their top agent, never going back in the field again. Those things were playing like a movie in his head._

_Clint ran a hand down Phil’s cheek and it was warm and rough where his callouses were. Phil opened his eyes to find Clint smiling at him. “Clint,” he said._

_“Phil. I have three questions for you first, okay? Then you can continue freaking out.” Clint had that take no prisoners look on his face, the fierce one that usually made Phil’s brain go straight to the bedroom. “One,” he said, “Does Fury know you’re sleeping with me?”_

_Phil shrugged and answered, “He’s one of my best friends. Yes, he knows.” That had been a funny conversation, actually, complete with Nick going through the stages of grief in about twenty seconds and straight into ‘Is sex with a former circus act as fun as it sounds?’ Phil refused to spill details, and had gotten a terse, ‘fine, be that way, asshole.’_

_“Right, so Fury knows and he’s okay with it because he knows we’re the same rank and we respect the job more than is probably healthy,” Clint continued. “Two, Do you trust me to do the job no matter what?”_

_Phil’s answer is automatic. “Of course. You’re the best.”_

_Clint shrugs and says, “Thanks. Okay. Three, are you comfortable with the plans and intel we have for this mission?”_

_Comfortable. Phil definitely wasn’t comfortable at the moment. His traitorous imagination wasn’t allowing that right now. The plans, though, and the intel. “They’re good.”_

_Clint moved closer and leaned his shoulder against Phil’s. “Okay then. Sure, it’s gonna be different this time, now that all I want to do is get back to you so we can wake up together again. But different’s okay. Not necessarily bad. As long as we keep ourselves focused, which we’re both very good at doing.”_

_So Phil stays focused for the next two days until they leave. He starts by stopping with Clint’s first name when they’re working on the mission. Clint’s own ‘Sirs’ get more frequent as well._

_They don’t touch at work once they leave the conference room, not even casual touches that wouldn’t be suspected by anyone. The walls Phil is trying to build in his head have to be reinforced by staying physically away from Clint at SHIELD._

_Phil also buttons the top button of his shirt that, after fifteen years at SHIELD building his reputation, had started to stay unbuttoned more often than not, and he makes sure his tie is tight around his neck. If psych wants to accuse him of using his suit as armor, they can feel free. They’re not wrong._

_Phil spends the rest of the prep time for the mission forcing himself back into the routines that held him together for years, before Clint Barton came and stole his heart away. Phil would just have to work harder to make sure his heart came back to him at the end of the mission, and if routines, suits of armor, distance, and names could help, well. As Clint liked to say, “Whatever works.”_

_< ><><><><><><> _

Now, he watches the monitors, waiting for Clint’s signal for the rest of the team. It comes, the team heads in, and Agent Barton manages the mission with the skills that got him his reputation as the best field agent SHIELD has. Phil swallows the worry and pushes it away, and does the work that earned him the reputation as the best handler SHIELD has with ease.

That AIM compound didn’t stand a chance.

“You look like you got in a bar fight,” Phil says, sliding to sit down next to Clint on the transport back to base. It’s a hard bench with shoulder straps that always seem too tight, which Clint is undoing so that he can slump against Phil. “You’re going to get blood on my suit.” He protests, but he’s eyeing Clint carefully.

He catalogues a nasty gash across Clint’s eyebrow, a black eye, a growing bruise on his cheekbone, a split lip, a bullet graze that’s ripped his tac suit across the left bicep, and a torn uniform at the knee that shows how the knee is bruised and swelling a bit.

“Nothing medical can’t handle in less than an hour,” Clint mumbles. “Can I touch you now?” he asks, even though he’s already got his head on Phil’s shoulder, and Phil knows that if he stood up Clint would fall over.

“Obviously,” he replies as he hands Clint an ice pack for his face.

“Wasn’t sure,” Clint said.

“Sorry,” Phil whispers, because of course Clint noticed Phil’s walls before the mission.

“’s’okay,” Clint replies, shutting his eyes. “I understand. Good idea.”

“Are you sure?” Phil asks, and he can’t keep the relief and amusement out of his voice.

“Shhhh,” Clint answers. “I’m sleeping.”

Phil lets him sleep the rest of the four hour flight back to base. He even manages to let medical steer Clint away from him once they land, and doesn’t feel the frantic need to go along that he fully expected to feel.

Maybe he can do this.

 


End file.
